The White Knight
by Cielita
Summary: The Queen". The day after the end of the film, HM is nearly assassinated, and events spiral out of control as a conspiracy of national proportions is slowly revealed. Story in progress and evolving.
1. Chapter 1

**The White Knight**

"_**The Queen" Fanfiction **_

"_Her Majesty the Queen was rushed from the scene of what can only be described as a near-disaster. Her Majesty was greeting attendees at the opening of a new library this morning when a young man approached the Queen and withdrew a large caliber hand gun from his jacket pocket. Video footage captured by a home video camera shows the swift action of the guards as they descended on the man and subdued him as other guards escorted the Queen from the premises. Understandably shaken, Her Majesty was immediately returned to Buckingham Palace, where officials report that she was not injured, and that the police are looking into the event. In other news, Girl Guides in…" _

The rest of the news cast was lost on His Highness, Prince Phillip Mountbatten, Duke of Edinburgh as his chauffeured car made its way through the streets of London. He tapped nervously on the empty seat to his right where Elizabeth often rode beside him, and seemed to fidget as he glanced out the windows, somehow willing the car to move faster. It was the third time he'd heard the news. He first heard it on a break from a day of touring a Welsh battalion's barracks on a small television that was playing the news in the same room. Shock washed over him as amateur footage showed his 50 years bride smiling and greeting families one minute, and then coming face to face with a .38 caliber pistol the next. He heard the news again seconds after that, when his cell phone rang and the Queen's representative from Buckingham Palace was calling to tell him. Hearing it again on the radio as he rushed home only agitated him. Despite being repeatedly reassured that she was uninjured and only badly frightened, he insisted upon cutting his day short and coming home. She had not asked for him, but after so long of a marriage, there are some things you simply *know* and Phillip *knew* that his Queen needed him.

A guilty sensation niggled away at Phillip's conscience. Nine times out of ten, he was with Elizabeth at functions like the one she was at today. Why had he not been there today? He could have been there to console her and perhaps could have protected her like a husband should. He fought not to clench his teeth.

"_Stupid! It was stupid of you not to be there with her!" _he scolded himself in silence.

"We're here, Your Highness," the chauffeur said as they pulled up to the curb. Phillip shook his head to dispel the memories of fear and helplessness as the footage rolled over and over on the television. He ignored all servants and the small knot of press representatives crowding the gates and shouting. Even from the distance from the gate to the door where he entered the palace, he could hear them. He strode into the palace, his long legs carrying him along as quickly as he could without running. If he lost his cool, he was likely to say something he would regret later and that the press would have a field day repeating. He uttered just three words to the Queen's personal attendant when she met him in the corridor.

"Where is she?"

"In her bedroom, Your Highness," the woman replied with a bob of a curtsey. He was long past her before she finished her response, finishing the trek to the bedroom in near record time. He rapped at the door sharply and was greeted by a shriek on the other side of the door. He opened it immediately and found his wife, his sovereign, sitting in a chair in a dark corner of the room, as far from the reach of the light from the windows as she could manage. She was wringing her hands, pale and trembling, her blue eyes wide behind her spectacles. He could tell that even here, in her own bedroom—their bedroom—she was trying valiantly to put that self-control she was so well known for back into place. Here, in the one place she had no reason to hold back, she was still trying to be Queen instead of simply letting herself be human. His heart swelled with relief to see for himself that she was physically unhurt by the gunman and he crossed the room as she fumbled to stand.

"There you are," he murmured, opening his arms as he came to the chair. She crumpled into his embrace heedless of her glasses, or her silver-white hair in its perfect curls. She continued to shake as he folded his arms around her and simply sheltered her there for the space of a few seconds before he coaxed her to sit down on the edge of the bed with him. She had not met his eyes, so great was the fear that she was still feeling, her nimble fingers twisting the wedding ring she wore. She had not uttered so much as a single word as she sat beneath his protective arm and quivered. Never had she come so close to being assassinated. So many questions raced through her mind that the room around her was a blur. The only clear thing in the room was sitting right beside her; a comforting warmth that she had not yet quite registered, but it made itself more real as a long, masculine hand reached out and covered both of hers. She finally looked up, realizing that he had spoken to her and that she hadn't even been listening.

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth, speak to me," the voice said. She looked up at him, her heart still pounding in fear, and could only manage a meek nod of her head.

"There…that's progress," the voice continued, a smile softening the long face and changing the shape of the kind-looking eyes of her Greek husband. She breathed shakily as she nodded again. She could hear him, but couldn't seem to make herself reply.

"I came home as soon as I heard…please speak to me," Phillip begged. Another sharp knock at the door startled them both, making the Queen duck her head and her Prince tighten his grip on her as the door opened, admitting their oldest son, Charles.

"Get out," Phillip growled.

"I've just been told that my mother was almost shot, you could at least—"

"Get out," Phillip repeated himself more firmly. "See that we're not disturbed again." Charles straightened, nodded curtly and turned, closing the door with a harsh snap. He turned his attention back to his startled wife and he began to fear that if he didn't figure out the right thing to say, she might actually panic herself into a heart attack.

"You're safe, my darling. Please do something—tell me what I can do to help you," Phillip said, clutching her right hand in his own. "Cry, Elizabeth. Let yourself cry at least before you give yourself an ulcer." She looked up at him again, his words slowly taking root and one moment at a time, she finally broke down and started to weep.

"Hold me!" she wept, pressing herself more tightly into his arms. "I can't stop shaking!" Phillip obliged most willingly, rocking a bit and whispered softly that everything was all right.

"I've got you…I've got you now…Shhhhhh….I'm so sorry I wasn't there with you today," Phillip murmured. She held tightly to his sleeve and kept her head tucked against his shoulder as she cried, letting the tears blur her glasses and fall unimpeded onto Phillip's lapel. Her Prince, her white knight, her comfort and strength who came running home when he heard what had happened to her. He came home and sought her out, pulling her out of the dark corner she had huddled into in terror. He now held her against his chest and protected her, guarded her, assured her that she was safe. A strange thing reached her ears--had he just said he was sorry?

"Whatever for? You mustn't blame yourself for this. What could you have done?" Elizabeth replied, her voice gaining some strength.

"I keep going over the news footage in my head. I keep placing myself there, trying to figure out what I could have done. Something. I could have done something. I might have seen him reaching into his jacket pocket and pulled you away. I could have been there to hold you immediately after, could have ridden with you back here to the palace. I could have done something," Phillip babbled.

"No," Elizabeth said softly. "No, I won't let you find a way to blame yourself for this." There was a silence of a few seconds during which the Queen slowly released her grip on her husband's sleeve and seemed to be gathering herself. She looked at him in his fine suit, worry creasing lines into the corners of his eyes and she managed a small smile. He favored her with one of his own and lightly stroked her cheek with his fingers as he moved to cup her face in his hand and bent to softly kiss her. They remained with their foreheads touching for a while, simply sitting in the quiet until she reached up to brush her cool fingertips over his face as she pressed her hand gently against his cheek. He covered her hand with his and then turned his head to kiss her palm.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too," he replied in kind, still holding her hand against his face. Finally, he moved it away, smoothly moving to hold it between both of his own hands.

"Why don't you lie down and rest?" Phillip suggested softly.

"Yes. That's a good idea," Elizabeth replied, letting him help her to stand and then waiting as he pulled back the covers. She smiled as he struggled with the pillows and the tightly tucked sheets and then sat down again, toeing off her shoes before letting her beloved tuck her in. She took a deep breath as soon as her head touched the pillow and a sense of relief washed over her. Tucked into her bed, warm, snug, and watched over by the man she loved—her white knight—the Queen started to fumble to take her glasses off, but Phillip assisted with this, too, setting them quietly on the bedside table.

"Stay with me?" she said sleepily. Her eyes were already drooping shut when he sat down on the edge of the bed again and stroked her hair affectionately.

"Until the sea doesn't touch the shore," he replied warmly. "Rest well, my love."

Phillip spent long, quiet minutes watching Elizabeth fall asleep. The silence seemed to sooth his nerves somehow and he took a deep, cleansing breath in the cool space of the room. There was a knock at the door and Phillip quickly glanced at his sleeping Queen, fearing that she might awaken. He breathed more easily when he discovered that she wasn't disturbed and once again, Prince Charles looked cautiously into the room. Phillip waved him in and then motioned for him to be quiet. Charles nearly tiptoed around the bed and brought the chair from across the room with him so that he could sit near his parents.

"The boys are worried. They heard it on the television and they're afraid for her," Charles said softly. "Anne and Andrew have called. They want to know if they need to come home. Edward is out of the country with his family and we haven't heard from him yet."

"They don't need to come home. God forbid had something worse happened, then yes, but as it is, she's not hurt," Phillip replied. There was a tense silence for a moment before Charles rose from his chair and nodded, starting for the door to, Phillip assumed, call his siblings.

"Charles?" he called softly.

"Sir?"

"Come here," he said. When Charles returned to his chair, Phillip took a beat of time to form the words in his mind before he spoke.

"You need to know that I wasn't angry at you before. I was simply focused on your mother and her needs and at that moment she didn't need people fussing about her. Every little sound upset her and I needed to make sure that she was all right before I let anyone else near. Does that make sense?" Phillip explained. Charles nodded.

"It's this business with Diana that has me so afraid. I was afraid something like this might happen but I thought for sure I would be the target, not mum," Charles said.

"I understand," Phillip said. Both men turned when the Queen shifted her weight in her sleep, emitting a soft sound close to a whimper. Very quietly the word 'no' came next, a word she repeated more firmly as the nightmare she was obviously having grew more violent.

"No!" she cried, thrashing the other direction.

"Mum," Charles said, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

"Darling, you're dreaming…wake up," Phillip coaxed, taking hold of her hand. Her body startled as she woke with a gasp, opening her eyes wide to find that Phillip had stayed as he said he would, and that Charles had joined him there. Both princes moved to help Queen Elizabeth sit up, patting her hands and speaking softly as she let herself become more aware. She reached for Charles and embraced him, an affection that he smiled as he received.

"Where are the boys?" she asked as she held him.

"In their room worrying about you," Charles replied.

"You dreamed of them?" Phillip asked. Elizabeth nodded hastily.

"I dreamed there was another gunman. This one had a rifle and he was aiming for the boys," Elizabeth explained as she continued to clutch Charles to her. "Charles was there with them and he'd already been shot!" Elizabeth lost the resolve to keep from weeping again and Charles held her as she steadied herself and sat back a moment later.

"I'll go and tell the boys you asked for them. They'll like that," Charles said, carefully releasing his mother from his arms and standing up to go. Phillip brought her a handkerchief and gently stroked her shoulder as she cried and bravely tried to gulp back tears that only a mother and grandmother could really understand.

"Feeling a little better?" Phillip asked.

"I will be when I have the boys in my arms," Elizabeth said stubbornly.

"Grandma," William's voice called from the doorway. Elizabeth turned and her pained expression melted. She gestured for both of them to come closer and both of the young princes grinned as they walked around the bed to the side she was on and each took a position on the edge of the bed where they could lean into her open arms. Elizabeth inched to one side to make room for them a second before William sat down closer to the pillow, winding his arms around her shoulders from behind her and resting his head against her left shoulder, while Harry perched in front of her and wrapped his arms around her torso, cuddling in against her other shoulder. She held them each tightly and kissed the tops of their heads, relieved now that she could see and touch them and reassure herself that they were really all right. Charles watched with a smile from the foot of the bed, virtually ignored along with his father as Elizabeth nearly vanished beneath her grandsons.

"We're glad you're all right, grandma," William murmured.

"We were so worried when we heard," Harry added.

"I'll be all right now, dear," she murmured lovingly. She hugged them once more and patted their cheeks before they sat up again, their smiles evidence that she wasn't the only one who was going to be all right.

That night, when Phillip came to bed, Elizabeth was already huddled beneath the covers and facing away from him. He slid into bed and propped himself on one elbow. She didn't respond, so he lightly touched her upper arm, making her startle a little and then roll over onto her back so that she could see him.

"Are you all right, cabbage?" Phillip asked gently, his affectionate nickname for her softening the stress in her expression. His hand now covered hers as it rested over her belly, and she nodded, though she kept strangely quiet.

"I'm considering cancelling my commitments for tomorrow, but I'm not sure I should," she finally said softly.

"Why not?" Phillip replied. "You've been through something traumatic. You deserve to take a day off to get yourself right."

"But would it send the right message? I don't want people to think that I frighten so easily," Elizabeth fretted. Phillip inched closer and pressed kisses to her temple and then her forehead, finally looking down at her with an adoring smile.

"All people are going to think is that you're human and you are. Come now. The whole of England is not going to come to a standstill simply because you take a day for yourself," Phillip said, lowering his lips to hers in a comforting kiss. She responded by shifting to accommodate his body so close to hers, and returning the kiss with the first enthusiasm she'd shown all day.

"Keep that up and I'll have to cancel my own commitments tomorrow and stay home as well," Phillip teased, making her chuckle before he kissed her again. Morning would find Her Majesty and her white knight curled tightly together with the sun filtering through the draperies, his arms around her, hiding her, protecting her, like any good knight would do.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

Queen Elizabeth II did her best to salvage the rest of her week. She knew that the end of this week would bring a fall holiday back to Balmoral, and if she could hang on and keep her composure until then, there would be time for relaxing and collecting her thoughts. Each day she felt just a little more confident than she had the day before, and she had ordered more security for her children and grandchildren, which made her feel like she had done what was necessary to protect her family.

The morning after they arrived at Balmoral, Elizabeth's mother, Elizabeth the Queen Mother, remarked at breakfast that she was proud of her daughter for handling the attempt on her life so well, and other than this, kept mostly to herself and to visiting with Charles and the boys. She knew that Phillip had something special planned for his bride and gave her son-in-law a knowing smile as she left the dining room.

"What's gotten into her this morning?" Elizabeth mused as she finished her breakfast and sipped her coffee.

"What do you mean?" Phillip asked.

"She usually has more to say at the table and today she was quiet," Elizabeth rationalized.

"Perhaps she thinks she knows something that you don't," Phillip teased. Elizabeth shot him a crooked smile, chuckled, and continued to sip her coffee.

"I wonder if you'd come for a drive with me to the lake," Phillip said. "It's beautiful today and I think the fresh air would do us both good."

"I'd like that," Elizabeth said, smiling as she left the table. Phillip grinned with pride as he watched her go. She was as lovely to him today as she was when they were teens. The Queen and her Prince left the castle an hour later, traveling along the gravel and dirt roads through the woods on the way to the lake. When they arrived, the weather had warmed considerably, and as Elizabeth stepped out of the land rover, she discovered that she no longer needed her coat and gloves.

"There! We couldn't have asked for a nicer day," Phillip said, retrieving a couple of blankets and a picnic basket out of the back.

"What's that?" she asked, a smile of pleased surprise curling her lips.

"You didn't really think I'd plan a day at the lake with you and not bring some refreshments along?" Phillip said, lightly kissing her cheek as he walked past her to the picnic table that was already there in the clearing.

"She knew…" Elizabeth murmured.

"What?" Phillip asked, hiding a grin.

"Mummy knew you were planning this for me, didn't she?" Elizabeth asked, joining him by the table. "You swore my mother to secrecy and spirited me out of the house, you naughty thing." Phillip turned and wound his arms around her waist, effectively pulling her to him as he enjoyed the look on her face. She pouted just a little but then smiled as she leaned into his embrace.

"How long has it been since we had time here for just the two of us? Long overdue, I say," Phillip said, ducking to meet Elizabeth's soft lips in a kiss. He would make sure that he made every moment of the time they had count. He leaned back without releasing her and pressed the play button on a small radio with a CD player in it. Softly, music started to play and Elizabeth laughed as her husband tucked his left arm around her torso and picked up her left hand in his right. He nudged them into a slow, leisurely dance and Elizabeth smiled as the sun filtered down through the trees. She imagined that they created quite the picture: Phillip in his kilt and her in her plaid skirt and both wearing heavy sweaters over shirts. Elizabeth laid her head on his shoulder and relished the warm tingle that traveled all the way to her toes when he adjusted his grip on her to hold her closer and kiss the top of her head.

"Thank you for this," Elizabeth murmured.

"You are most welcome," he whispered tenderly, closing his eyes as they swayed.

Hours later, they packed the land rover and reluctantly climbed in to begin the journey back to the castle. They conversed quietly and remarked that Charles and the boys would have been back from their hiking trip and were probably wondering where they were. They weren't used to being so spontaneous and it made them both smile. They were still miles from the castle when a deer ran out across the road in front of them and startled them, making Phillip slam on the breaks and bring the rover to a sudden stop. Luckily enough for all of them, the deer had been far enough ahead of them for Phillip to stop without hitting it, but they sat for a few moments to let the shock wear off anyway.

"That was very close," Elizabeth murmured.

"Certainly not the first time nor is it likely to be the last," Phillip added. "Shall we?"

"Yes, of course," Elizabeth replied, settling into her seat again. Before Phillip could put the rover in gear again, half a dozen men dressed in solid black emerged from the dense vegetation and pulled the royals from their vehicle before either could object. But once they were out of the car, object they did, and loudly.

"What in God's name is going on here?" Phillip demanded. It took two men to hold him back as the attackers ignored his question. "Take your hands off us at once!"

"Let me go!" Elizabeth shouted as one man held her fast. The man who held her was having a hard time doing so, and reacted instinctively when she stomped roughly on the instep of his left foot, making him release her. She didn't get far before two others reached forward to grab her arms and the last of the men went around behind Phillip and hit him in the back of the head, sending him unconscious to the ground face down.

"No!" Elizabeth screamed and renewed her efforts to escape her handlers. "Phillip! Oh, Phillip, no!"

"Enough!" one man finally shouted, shocking her into being quiet. "Utter another word or try to get away again and it won't be just a bump on the head, understand me?" Elizabeth trembled and nodded, tears flooding her eyes as the men in their black shirts and matching tactical pants and gear surrounded her and escorted her to a clearing where a small helicopter had been hidden. Three of the men boarded the craft with the Queen and the others kept watch and then vanished into the trees again as the helicopter rose into the air and whisked her away into the wild blue unknown.

* * *

Charles, William and Harry arrived back at Balmoral castle about mid-afternoon and were greeted by the Queen Mother.

"What is it, Granny?" Charles said, kissing her cheek. "You look positively pale. Where have mum and dad gotten themselves off to?"

"They left just after you did bound for the lake and they haven't been back yet," she replied, hobbling on her cane to a nearby chair and sitting down heavily.

"It's nearly four…it's not like them to be out all day without calling in to let us know when they'll be back, even though we're all on holiday," Charles said.

"You don't suppose something's happened to them, do you?" Harry asked, glancing from his father to his great-grandmother and back.

"Let's not jump to conclusions, son," Charles said, though alarm bells went off in his head. "As unlikely as it is, they could really have simply lost track of time."

"Shall we surprise them?" William asked with a mischievous grin directed at his brother.

"Remember the last time we sneaked up on them? I think grandpa nearly had a fit!" Harry recalled with laughter.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, boys!" cried the Queen Mother as the youngsters turned and bounded back out the door. She turned to Charles and sighed. "They went out there to be alone together…after what happened this week, Phillip wanted to do something nice."

"I'll go with the boys and try to…um…curb their enthusiasm," Charles said, a grin still playing with his facial features as he turned to follow his boys.

When Prince Charles and his sons found the land rover his parents had been driving, it was still sitting in the middle of the road and no one was inside.

"That's odd," William said, pulling off his seatbelt before Charles could get the vehicle stopped.

"Where are they? They must have been on their way back because that's how the car is situated, but they aren't here," Charles said. Harry got out of the car carefully, looking in every direction and taking note of details.

"What is it, Harry?" Charles asked, standing on the other side of the vehicle with William.

"There are sets of boot prints here. At least four different sizes," Harry said, working his way carefully around the back of their vehicle to the other side and continuing to analyze. "There's a pair of smaller prints here…different shoe all together…too dainty to be a man—these could have been grandma's shoes…" Harry's military training was suddenly coming in handy for more than just combat. He squatted down near the front bumper of the other land rover to examine the prints more clearly and suddenly a limp hand was visible on the other side of the vehicle. Harry leapt to his feet and bounded around the rover.

"Grandpa!" he shouted. William and Charles followed him, all three collapsing to their knees near Prince Phillip and looked him over for injuries.

"He's been struck," William said, indicating the swollen bump on the back of the elder Prince's head. Charles located a strong pulse in his father's wrist and a small part of him relaxed.

"Wake up," he coaxed, shaking Phillip's shoulder. "Come on, dad, wake up!" A groan escaped Phillip's mouth long before he was able to move. Charles was on his cell phone seconds later, calling back to the castle for help and William and Harry were helping their grandfather to sit up. He weakly embraced each of them before demanding to know how long he had been unconscious.

"We don't know," William replied. "What happened?"

"They're sending for the police. I told them we'd wait for them here," Charles announced. "Dad, what's going on?" Phillip winced as he touched the back of his head and felt the bump left by the butt of their attacker's pistol.

"We had stopped because a deer ran out in front of us," he explained. "We were about to continue on when six men all in black came out of the woods at us. They dragged us out of the car and knocked me out. Whoever they are, they have your mother, Charles…bloody fools somehow managed to kidnap the Queen of England!"


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

Finally back at Balmoral, Phillip confronted his trembling mother-in-law and had to tell her that Elizabeth had been taken. As they sat in the drawing room, Phillip held the luke-warm icepack in his hands that he had been holding against the egg-sized lump on his head. None of them spoke for several minutes before Phillip stood and crossed the room to the windows, staring blankly out of them as the sunset reached the horizon.

"Why would someone want to hurt grandma?" Harry asked softly.

"It could be any number of things, son," Charles said. "It could be some organization with a political agenda, it could be about money…"

"Blatant act of terrorism!" Phillip cried, turning back from the windows.

"Terrorism?" Charles echoed. "I'll admit I'm as angry about this as you are, but terrorism is a strong word."

"What else would you call it?" Phillip retorted.

"If they want money, why haven't they called looking for a ransom yet?" William asked.

"What if it doesn't have anything to do with money at all?" Harry asked. "What if it's some nutter who believes that grandma has damaged the image of the monarchy? If someone believed that strongly enough, don't you think they'd do something about it?"

"That wouldn't change a thing!" Phillip sputtered. "What good would it do to remove her and put Charles on the throne unless they thought that somehow Charles could be manipulated?" Charles let out a breath and leaned forward, lowering his head into his hands. William went to him and put his hand on his father's shoulder, turning to give his grandfather a scowl.

"That's not fair. You make it sound like this was his fault and no one's done it except those brutes that accosted you!" William cried defiantly.

"I never said it was his fault!" Phillip shouted back. He tossed the warm compress onto a table and sneered back at his family. "I'm going to bed. I need to get another ice pack and then try to get to sleep knowing that the last thing I heard before I blacked out was your grandmother screaming for me and I could do nothing!" The door slammed behind Phillip when he left the room, and the ensuing seconds of silence were interrupted when a shuddering sob escaped the dowager Queen. Charles patted William's shoulder as he stood and went to sit with her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and giving her hand a tender squeeze. Her lip quivered as tears slipped from her eyes, refusing to look up when Charles sat down.

"It's going to be all right, granny," Charles murmured. "We'll get her back."

"But in what condition?" the elder Queen Elizabeth muttered miserably. "She's not likely to cooperate with terrorists and how long do you suppose they'll let her live once she's of no use to them?"

"We can't think like that," Charles said. "We need to be positive." With that, she rose from her place and took a breath before she replied to him.

"As you wish," she murmured, bowing at the neck. "You are sovereign in her stead, Charles." With this, she hobbled from the room in silence leaving devastated Charles to be comforted by his boys.

* * *

Queen Elizabeth II sat quietly in the small room she had been roughly pushed into when she arrived at what she could only dimly see in the dark as some sort of military camp, a smattering of small buildings and a barracks. She hadn't said a word since being separated from her husband at Balmoral and none of the men who held her captive had attempted to speak to her. As she clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap, she bit her lip and looked around, observing that there were no windows in the room, and that it was occupied by only a plain table, a small bed, and the chair she sat upon. She had no idea what was going on and needed information, fast. She could barely hear the voices in the corridor and meekly went to the door to press her ear against the jamb and listen.

There were two men in the corridor. One talked like he had been there during her abduction, and the other was only now aware of it. She heard them talk about their plan to remove her from the throne in favor of her more easily coerced son, Charles, and the unfortunate mishap that occurred when they had first begun: the original idea had been to first bully Charles by threatening his sons, but Diana had discovered the conspiracy and her violent death in Paris was a little more than they had bargained for. Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat—Diana's death wasn't brought on by the paparazzi? It wasn't a result of her scandalous behavior being solicited by the media? And what of Dodi Fayed? Tragic collateral damage in the effort to keep them from revealing the plot to the press. The young gunman who had threatened the Queen a week ago was had been a deliberate scare tactic to make her rearrange her security detail and have them be spread too thinly when Elizabeth's first reaction was to protect her family rather than herself. Elizabeth was pale and shaking when she returned to her chair. Where had this plot come from? A much more important question was, what was she ever going to do to get free? Now that she knew what was really happening, she needed to do something drastic…but what? There was a small mirror on the wall near the door of the room and Elizabeth observed her reflection for a moment. She reached to wipe the smudges of dirt from her face and then stopped. She again studied her appearance and an idea came to her. If she could convince them that they had the wrong woman—convince them that she was not the Queen but a convincing look-alike…She quickly went back to her chair and forced herself to think, to create a new persona that was completely opposite of her own nature.

An hour later, a man entered the room wearing the same black garb that all of the others here seemed to be wearing. When Elizabeth looked up, she had completely transformed her expression from one of calm, to one of utter terror.

"It seems we have a lot to talk about, your majesty," the man said.

"What are you on about?" she wept, wringing the hem of her heavy sweater in her hands. She had removed and hidden her wedding ring, replacing it with a plainer one from her other hand, and her clear, careful English diction had been reduced to a Scottish brogue that would have made any true Scotsman blush with pride. Clearly, her interrogator was taken a little aback, and Elizabeth inwardly smiled. Her plan was working.

"I always knew that looking like her would get me into trouble someday!" Elizabeth wailed. "I've bloody well been mistaken for the Queen herself!"

"Wait a minute…you're not her?" the man stammered.

"No! Of course not!" Elizabeth cried, fearing at any moment that she might make some slip up and he would see through her charade.

"What's your name?" he demanded.

"Elsie…Elsie Keith," Elizabeth whimpered. "We're visitors to a neighboring estate and we'd gained permission to be on the grounds." Elizabeth was even beginning to impress herself. She was an accomplished public speaker to be certain, but she hadn't been sure at the beginning that her acting skills were going to be up to the task. She sobbed into her handkerchief and waited for the man to say something else. Instead, he went to the door and shouted into the corridor for two other men. When they arrived, they asked their superior what was going on.

"It's not her," the interrogator said.

"What do you mean it's not her?" the first man echoed.

"We did exactly as the plan stated—the land rover, the estate, everything!" the second man added.

"You cannot tell me that sniveling puddle of mush over there is our Queen," the interrogator insisted.

"What do you want to do about her? She's been here, she can't just walk out!" the second man argued.

"If she's got enough money and clout to be a guest at an estate like that, someone's going to miss her," said the first man.

"I think you're lying, Elsie," the interrogator said, turning back to Elizabeth. Her heart nearly burst in her chest—had he figured it out? "I think you and your old man sneaked onto the property, didn't you? You're not a guest of a neighboring estate at all." The feeling that her heart was being squeezed by a fist eased a little at this and she played along.

"Yes, you're right! We did sneak in!" Elizabeth admitted with blatant embarrassment. "We'd heard that the lake on Balmoral was so lovely!" The interrogator took a breath as Elizabeth dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief and added, wailing, "My poor husband! He's bound to be still lying in the road where all of you left him!"

"Get her out of here. Take her out back by the sheds and shoot her," the interrogator said. Elizabeth looked up at her captors as the interrogator called a third man, another that Elizabeth didn't recognize as one of the men who had abducted her, and assigned him the gruesome task. Elizabeth was speechless as the man dragged her by the arm down one corridor and around the corner to where a door lay at the end of another narrow corridor. Their breath made soft white puffs in the night air and the man gave her a small push toward a metal storage shed making her collapse to her knees. Shaking uncontrollably and forgetting her act, Elizabeth folded her hands and sobbed as she prayed. The young man pulled a pistol from a holster on his hip and checked it for ammunition and to make sure the safety was still on.

"Tell me something," the man said suddenly. Elizabeth looked up at him, awaiting this final question. "What's your maiden name?"

"What?" Elizabeth wept.

"Your maiden name. What is it?" he repeated. Elizabeth was at a loss. What did it matter what her maiden name was? She gave him the first surname that came to mind.

"Mountbatten," she finally answered. The young soldier lowered his weapon and replaced it in its holster. Elizabeth looked at him in shock as he offered her his hand to get up.

"I don't understand," Elizabeth said, stumbling to her feet.

"Elsie is short for Elizabeth. The name Keith means forest, referring to the woods of Balmoral, where they took you from. All of that could have been coincidence, but it was the last that confirmed it: Mountbatten—Prince Phillip's last name," the young man replied, "Your Majesty."

The young soldier took Elizabeth to a jeep nearby and drove off into the night with her, bound for Balmoral. When they got close enough to the estate, hours later, Elizabeth had fallen asleep and her savior eased the jeep into the woods surrounding the castle. He knew that search parties were still making their way through the thousands of acres of woods, hills, and lakes on foot and with dogs and had not made it very far despite the hours that they must have been at the task. The woods were dense, and he had an idea. Stopping the jeep miles from the reach of the flashlights of the searchers, he carefully lifted the sleeping sovereign into his arms and walked a distance into the trees, choosing a soft bit of ground to lay her down. He knew that soon they would have to call off the search for the night and he was counting on it. He reverently kissed her hand and with this, he left her, making his way back to the jeep and speeding away into the night. When she woke in the morning, she would wonder if it had all been a dream and, he hoped, she would recover from this harrowing ordeal.

* * *

When Prince Phillip awoke the next morning, his head was still throbbing, but he dressed anyway and joined Charles downstairs to go out with the search parties. Charles tried to convince him to stay at the castle with the boys and the Queen Mother, but there was no persuading him. The servant who handed Charles his coat was smiling as the elder Prince left the castle, and Charles asked her why she smiled.

"I meant no disrespect, your highness," she said sweetly. "It's just…it's very romantic." Charles smiled for the first time since all of this happened. After all, she was right about his parents; they seemed to have been destined for one another, and Prince Phillip never let his queen forget that he loved her more than anything else.

By mid-morning, Prince Charles's group of searchers had not turned up anything significant. Dogs had been brought along to try to track by scent, and they pulled on their long leashes excitedly as they sniffed and snorted at the ground. Charles walked along with the long line of searchers, a fretful look on his face and one of his mother's silk scarves in his coat pocket. They had used it to help the dogs get a scent to work from and it gave Phillip some hope, however small. Even if his clever mother found a way to outsmart her attackers and escape, there was no telling where they had taken her or if she would have been able to find her way back. There was also the chill of the autumn nights to think about. Neither of his parents had been wearing a coat in the early afternoon, when the day was warmer. How long would it have taken for the cold to do her in anyway? Charles tried hard not to let these thoughts pervade his determination but it was difficult to do when the odds were stacked against the strong, sensible woman who had brought him into this world. He owed it to her to hope.

An hour later, the dogs tugged hard on their leashes and whined as they seemed to pick up something familiar. The handlers jogged to keep up with them as they led the group toward a small clearing up ahead. Charles jogged along and despite warnings not to, charged into the clearing anyway. There on the ground, slumbering heavily in the still, chilly morning air like a forgotten Snow White was his missing mother. He knelt beside her and picked up her hand moments before she awoke.

"Charles!" she gasped, letting him slowly help her up as the search party cheered. She leaned heavily on his arm as Charles embraced her and begged her to let him carry her.

"No," she said hoarsely but gently. "Just guide me." Charles nodded and aided her as they walked to a land rover that had been following the search party. A doctor climbed out, helping Charles to bring the gentle queen to the back of the rover, where he briefly examined her and determined that she was uninjured. With help, Elizabeth climbed into the back seat of the rover with Charles, and they were promptly driven back to the castle, where servants waited inside the door to whisk their queen upstairs to her rooms, where they could help her bathe and change, and one brought up a tray with a light lunch on it for her. Charles had been left standing at the foot of the staircase when his boys came running.

"You're back!" Harry cried.

"What happened?" William asked. Charles proceeded to tell them that their grandmother was alive and was going to be all right and their explosion of happy relief made Charles grin broadly as they threw their arms around him.

"Where's Grandpa? Someone called the other search party to tell them, right?" William asked.

"I'm on my way to do just that," Charles said, squeezing William's shoulder. "Why don't you go and tell Queen Elizabeth that grandma's all right?" The boys nodded and jogged out of the room, leaving Charles to find his cell phone and locate his father.

By the time the servants left the queen to rest, she had eaten everything on the tray and was warm and refreshed, sitting on the edge of her bed ensconced in her floor length nightgown and dark rose colored robe. William, Harry, and her mother had all been in to see her, and despite feeling much better, she was exhausted. She eased herself to her feet and walked to the window, sitting now on the window seat where she looked out over the gardens and started to cry. She had been home for hours and none of the other members of her family had mentioned anything about Phillip. She could only surmise from this that her fears had been correct and her dear Prince had indeed perished from his injuries. Why had none of them told her? What difference would it make if they told her now or later?

Elizabeth's heart broke as she recalled that the last time she saw him, he was wide eyed and struggling to help her right before the man struck him in the head. Now the next time she would see him was going to be his funeral. He would never again be there to hold her, be her shield against the world that frequently misunderstood her, nor would he be there for her to confide in, love, honor, and cherish. Her tears fell freely the more she recalled: their drive to the lake, his surprise picnic, dancing with her to the music of that little radio, going for a walk around the lake and then making love on a bed of blankets in the sunshine and warm breeze near the sparkling water's edge.

Truly alone, the queen wrapped her arms around herself and continued to sob, doubled over in misery and left cold by the loss of the man who had been her knight for 50 years. As she wept she didn't hear the doorknob turn or the footsteps of the person who entered the room but looked up moments later and discovered her visitor, the only one in her life that could ever get away with not knocking before he entered, and pulled herself to her feet, rushing across the room into his arms. Both Queen Elizabeth and her Prince collapsed to their knees, kissing, embracing, stroking one another's faces and arms and doing their best to dry each other's mourning tears.

"Oh, my Elizabeth!" Phillip murmured. "I'm here, my darling! I thought I'd never see you again!" Phillip couldn't resist holding her tightly and rocking a little as he pressed kiss after kiss to her crown, forehead, cheeks and lips. Elizabeth relaxed into his arms, the bone-chilling emptiness she'd felt ebbing as she returned his eager, joyful kisses.

"I was so sure that they'd killed you!" Elizabeth murmured as they wobbled to their feet. Once they were standing, Phillip softly cupped her face in his hands and ducked to kiss her again, this one sending little tingling sensations all the way to his bride's toes. She rested against his chest and let him hold her for an infinite time before he urged her to sit down and rest while he went to change his clothes. When he returned minutes later, Elizabeth was yawning. Phillip held the covers for her to cuddle down into bed and then promptly joined her there, hugging her snugly against his chest and virtually hiding her from view. They'd spent the previous night apart and Phillip had every intention of making up for lost time.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Elizabeth opened her eyes groggily when she heard a knock at the door. Phillip had rolled onto his back and she had compensated by snuggling against his side, pillowing her head on his chest. Phillip took a deep breath and turned his head as the knock was repeated and then a petite brunette peeked inside.

"It will be dinner time soon," she said softly. "Are either of you hungry?"

"We'll be down in a few minutes," Phillip said drowsily. The girl nodded and quietly shut the door, leaving the queen and her prince to stretch and yawn and slowly work their way out of bed.

"How are you feeling?" Phillip asked as Elizabeth sat at her vanity and put her hair to rights after she had dressed. She smiled softly as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Better," she replied, "thanks to you." Phillip chuckled and then waited for her to take one more look in the mirror before she joined him at the bedroom door. They walked down to dinner together, arriving at the dining room seconds after their son and grandsons. Elizabeth's mother was already there and waiting for them.

After a generally quiet dinner, the boys retired to their bedroom and Elizabeth was left with her son, her mother, and her husband; three people that she needed to have a very serious talk with.

"Are you feeling all right, mum?" Charles asked gently after a few minutes of silence.

"I'm better, yes, but there still remains the matter of these attacks. Something needs to be done and if something is to be done then you all need to know what I know," Elizabeth said evenly. She took a breath and then told them everything: the helicopter ride, the little bedroom, the men, the interrogator who ordered her execution, and the young agent who saved her life and returned her to Balmoral unharmed.

"But why didn't he bring you all the way to the castle?" Phillip asked. "He could have told us anything—that he found you himself and was restoring you to us—what made him leave you to freeze in the cold like that?"

"I think we should just be grateful that he didn't follow orders. He was probably in enough trouble with his superior for not following through," Charles said.

"I doubt he actually told whoever his superior is," Elizabeth replied, folding her arms around herself. She'd felt a chill from remembering what it was like to kneel on the hard ground in the dark and cold and think that her life was coming to an end in such a violent way. Phillip wound his arms around her and the action warmed her and chased the memory away... for now.

"The point here is what are we going to do next?" Elizabeth said. She was regaining more and more of her steadiness and focus as the evening went on.

"The media is bound to be all over this by now," Phillip said.

"Long ago," Charles added. "I just can't believe that this is all happening at once!"

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked, looking up from the patch of carpeting she was staring at just beyond her feet.

"Well, this mess with Diana and then I felt like I was the target and now they've targeted you!" Charles whined, standing and moving toward the windows. Prince Phillip gave his wife a look of disbelief and she took a breath and covered his hand with hers. The last thing she needed was for Phillip to go off the deep end.

"Have you heard anything your mother just said?" Phillip cried. Elizabeth lowered her head as Phillip continued to rant. "She's just told us that she was nearly murdered on the orders of some psychotic so that you could ascend to the throne, and all you can think of is yourself?"

"I have to think of myself! Myself and the boys! If someone's out there with the intelligence and the technology necessary to stage a coup like that then I'd say I have reason to worry about myself, don't you think?" Charles shouted back.

"You may be the future king of England, but your mother is still sovereign and as such your safety and welfare take a backseat to hers!" Phillip shouted over him. Elizabeth stood and left the room without a word, her pace as fast as she could walk without running.

"That's not true and you know it!" Charles retaliated right before Elizabeth slammed the door behind her. There was pin-dropping silence for the space of a few moments, until the Queen Mother finally found her voice.

"Well," she said softly, leaning heavily on her cane as she stood. "Now you've done it. Go on, finish your argument. I'll see to Elizabeth." Though she never raised her voice above that gentle murmur, the dowager queen's words had the impact of a slap in the face to both of them. In stark opposite to her daughter, the Queen Mother took her time leaving the room, and shut the door softly behind her.

When she reached the bedroom that Elizabeth and her husband shared, she knocked politely and then ignored her feisty daughter when she replied, "Go away!" With that same quiet determination that made her source of joy to her people, the Queen Mother hobbled to Elizabeth's bedside and sat down on the edge of the bed itself. Elizabeth was lying on her side, facing away from the door, her arms wrapped around herself and tears falling unbidden from her blue eyes. For several minutes, the Queen Mother let her daughter cry. It couldn't hurt--sometimes a person just needs a good cry to start to feel better. She spied a thick blanket at the foot of the bed and stood, turned carefully, and covered her eldest child up to just past her elbows; just enough to cover what the short sleeves of her blouse didn't. Seconds later, England's sovereign found her voice.

"I don't understand, mummy," she murmured.

"What's that, dear?" the Queen Mother said, resuming her place at the edge of the bed and folding her hands.

"I don't understand how one can raise one's children to the best of one's ability and still they get it wrong," Elizabeth said. "I also don't understand how one's husband can lose his head just when I need him to keep it squarely on his shoulders!" The Queen Mother chuckled softly and reached over to stroke her daughter's shoulder.

"Don't worry about Charles," she said, her eyes betraying an understanding that only another queen—and another mother—could understand, "he will come to his senses. If he doesn't, then you will cross that bridge when you get there. As for Phillip…" she paused here to chuckle again.

"Phillip's world revolves around his queen, as it should, but more importantly," she lightly touched Elizabeth's face to make her turn to face her, "it revolves around you. He loves you, Elizabeth. Don't be too hard on him; he's only trying to protect you. After fifty years, you should know by now that he is, and has always been, your white knight." Elizabeth smiled at this.

"You know, mummy, that's what I thought of him as the other day…a white knight," Elizabeth replied.

"There's nothing wrong with that," the dowager queen replied. "Let him be your knight. Husbands like to think that they can protect their families and especially their wives. Perhaps Phillip can think of things in a way that you wouldn't think of."

"Perhaps you're right, but oh, him and Charles…"

"Let him work it out with Charles. You've said your piece and Charles has made this about himself. Now it will be up to Phillip to talk sense into him man to man…if he's able," the Queen Mother said.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Elizabeth muttered.

"Let them be," the Queen Mother added, stroking Elizabeth's hair. "Stay here and rest. I'm going to go to my room for the night. Rest well and I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, mummy," Elizabeth murmured as her mother leaned over to kiss her cheek. Elizabeth smiled at this, and obediently closed her eyes. A little rest never hurt anyone.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

Phillip woke Elizabeth as he crept into bed beside her. He said nothing until she rolled over onto her opposite side to face him.

"Are you still angry at me?" Phillip asked softly. Elizabeth responded by stroking his face and smiling gently before she snuggled closer and kissed him. He slipped his arms around her and gratefully indulged her affection.

"We both could have been killed in the past 48 hours. I don't want to waste any time being angry. It won't help anything," Elizabeth replied.

"Charles and I both behaved like Neanderthals tonight. I'm sorry for that," he apologized.

"In a way, he's right. Part of this is about him and he's right to be afraid," Elizabeth said.

"Not to the exclusion of his own parents!" Phillip argued. "There's an order to things for a reason: because it works. You are sovereign and your needs come first. He's always known that and it doesn't go out the window simply because all of this is happening." Elizabeth nodded but remained silent. Phillip's logic was sound, but it lacked the empathy that Elizabeth was tangled in as she lay secure in his arms. Someone was trying to manipulate Charles and was willing to threaten and murder his family to put him on the throne. This person believed that Charles was malleable, able to be coerced and convinced to behave in a way that suited his or her cause. Yes, Charles had every right to be afraid but so did the rest of the royal family. Elizabeth took a deep breath and nodded again, her resolve was set.

"A penny for your thoughts, cabbage," Phillip said as he watched her expressions change in thought.

"This will not stand. I will not hide here at Balmoral while someone out there schemes how best to murder my family," Elizabeth replied.

"Are you suggesting that we return to London early?" Phillip asked evenly.

"Yes. As soon as we can. The media has already had the story about the assassination attempt and they've run the story about my disappearance by now. The thing to do now is present a united front. An offensive as it were. Something needs to be done to seek out these rogues and put a stop to whatever it is they're planning," Elizabeth plotted.

"I understand," Phillip said. He would have added his own opinion to this, but he feared stoking her wrath so late in the evening. Elizabeth scrunched down and tucked her head against Phillip's chest, wrapping her arms around his torso.

"Furthermore, I think that this action needs to come from Charles. He needs these men to see that they were wrong—that he can't be manipulated as they think—and that any such attempt in the future would be futile," Elizabeth added.

"Yes, dear," Phillip replied, softly stroking her back. Elizabeth craned her neck to look up at him, her brow wrinkled in offense.

"Are you patronizing me?" she muttered.

"Of course not," Phillip replied perfectly calmly, still holding her and rubbing her back in long strokes. "I'm simply agreeing with what you said. Elizabeth, I am the last person on earth you need to be defensive to right now." Elizabeth took another breath and returned her head to his chest.

"There's a girl…let's get some rest. Tomorrow, when we're all calmer and more rested we'll get the ball rolling," Phillip said. Again, his logic was sound and Elizabeth couldn't argue. She yawned deeply and snuggled a little more firmly against the line of his body.

"Good night, love," Elizabeth murmured.

"Good night," Phillip whispered.

* * *

During their return flight to London the next day, Phillip and Elizabeth took it upon themselves to tell their grandsons what was going on. As the boys' eyes widened and each at different times clutched their grandmother's hand in worry, Charles remained mostly silent.

"Dad, what are we going to do?" Will asked his father when the tale was done.

"I'm not sure, son," Charles replied softly.

"I want to go back to Balmoral," Harry said, his lip quivering despite his thirteen years. "I don't think we're safe in London."

"We're going to be just fine, dear," said the Queen Mother comfortingly, letting Harry inch closer to her and take hold of her hand. "Your father will see to that…won't you, Charles?" The tone of her voice didn't leave any room for argument but somehow Charles found it.

"Granny, I think this is far more complicated than you realize," Charles replied.

"How so?" Elizabeth retorted before her mother could reply. "By cowering you will show these monsters that you are exactly what they say you are: easily manipulated. You are heir apparent to an unbroken thousand year old royal line. Our predecessors would never have brooked such defiance and neither will we."

"Well," Charles said, standing and buttoning his suit coat as he moved past his family to sit on the other side of the plane, "as father is so fond of pointing out, you are the sovereign, mother." William watched his father go and then ran his hand through his short blonde hair.

"This is ridiculous," Will murmured to Harry as their grandmother stewed, muttering words like 'petulant', 'ungrateful' and 'petty' under her breath as Prince Phillip did his best to calm her.

"Grandma's right," Harry said finally, keeping the quiet tone his brother was using. "Something has to be done."

"I thought you wanted to go back to Balmoral," Will said. Harry shook his head. Across the aisle from them, Phillip urged his Queen to listen to their grandsons' conversation.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm terrified. More than that, though, mum's dead because she knew we were in danger. She was trying to protect us and it would be wrong to let her death be in vain. Our grandparents were nearly gunned down, Will. Grandma was abducted and nearly shot more than once in the last couple of weeks. If she can find it in her to fight, then we ought to be of the same mind," Harry explained.

"What about dad?" Will asked, though to be honest, his brother had already proven his point and convinced him of the same.

"Let him be," Harry said with disappointment in his gaze. "If he won't help Grandma do something about this, then we will." William sat up and wrapped a brotherly arm around Harry, squeezing his shoulder for a moment in silent support. Across from them, Elizabeth swallowed the lump in her throat. For the boys to be so brave in the face of such danger at their age was valorous and she made a mental note to acknowledge this bravery as soon as they got home.

* * *

The atmosphere at 10 Downing Street was nothing short of a flurry of excited nervousness. Ever since news of the Queen's disappearance and sudden return reached his ears not quite 48 hour before, Prime Minister Tony Blair had been a much more demanding boss than usual.

"Our Queen drops off the map for 24 hours and two days later no one seems to be able to tell me what's being done?" Blair barked.

"Well, technically, sir, she was only missing for a matter of a few hours…" one of his assistants replied meekly as she struggled to keep up with him. Blair stopped in his tracks.

"Well that's not the bloody point, is it?" he snapped. "Get me on the phone with Robin Janvrin! Hell, I want to talk to the Queen herself if possible! God knows she's one of the only people with her head screwed on properly lately…" Secretaries and assistants scattered in his wake as Alastair Campbell made his way to the prime minister's side.

"Have you given any thought to when you'll make a statement about this?" Campbell said, his arm loaded with the morning's newspapers.

"What am I supposed to tell the people that they haven't already had from the papers?" Blair asked, making his way into his office and sitting roughly into his chair. The televisions in the background were running the news shows, each showing different angles on Buckingham Palace and the people who had gathered outside the palace, waiting for some sort of confirmation or proof that their queen was safe. As the queen suspected, they'd had the story from the television news already, and now they waited, some patiently and some with anxious eyes, for some sort of statement or appearance.

"Just reassure them that we're working on getting to the bottom of it, that's all," Campbell said as Blair scribbled furiously on a notepad he'd pulled from an untidy stack on the top of the desk.

"Getting to the bottom of it…that's brilliant," Blair grumbled.

"I've got some ideas already. I'll get them to you," Campbell said, leaving the room in resignation. When Blair was flustered like this, there was no talking to him until he was calmer. As the communications director left the office, another assistant popped her head in the doorway and called, "Tony, Janvrin on one for you."

"Finally," Blair hissed, picking up the phone and punching the appropriate line. "Mr. Janvrin."

"Good morning, prime minister," replied the queen's private secretary. He sounded worn and tired and Blair could relate. After the phone call that had informed Blair of the events that had unfolded at Balmoral, he had been pushing every political button he could push to find out how things had gotten so far out of control. Where were all of the security guards entrusted with the safety of the royal family? Who had the resources to coordinate six men and a helicopter to abduct the queen, only to deposit her back at Balmoral without a scratch? According to Janvrin's retelling of what the queen told him, these men were a highly organized almost military presence. Once she convinced them that she was not really the queen but an unfortunate look-alike, the interrogator had deemed her of no use to them and had ordered another man to shoot her. It had only been through sheer luck that their sovereign had been delivered into the hands of a young man who saw through her story and had the sense not to follow through with his gruesome orders. Blair scribbled notes and doodled while the private secretary spoke, trying to comprehend what he was hearing. By the time he finished telling him that the queen was determined to take some sort of action about the situation, Blair sat forward in his chair.

"What sort of action?" Blair asked, hoping that his tone didn't seem too eager.

"I'm not sure yet," Janvrin replied. "The Duke of Edinburgh is most determined of all. He's calling this all a blatant act of terrorism. There are more details her majesty would rather were not repeated in an unsecured environment." Blair shot a look at his calendar—it was Tuesday.

"It would be my privilege to meet with her majesty and discuss what I and my government can do to help," Blair ventured.

"I believe that is her majesty's intent, Mr. Blair, but allow me to confirm a specific time and I will get back to you as soon as I know more," Janvrin said, his voice a little steadier now after hearing Blair's overwhelming support in the matter. Once they had ended the conversation, Blair began putting his leather bound notepad together to take with him. He wanted to be ready the moment the queen decided that she was ready to see him. The two were not friends in the strictest sense of the word, but after the events of the past summer, they had managed to reach some semblance of a mutual respect and on Blair's part, admiration. Perhaps his wife was right: maybe he did see some shadow of his mother in the great lady, but right now, that was beside the point.

"Tony! Janvrin on one!" called a voice. Blair immediately picked up the phone again and confirmed that the Queen intended to keep their regular Tuesday afternoon meeting time as they did each week. There was tension in Robin Janvrin's voice as he spoke to the prime minister. Something told him that it had been a long week for her majesty's private secretary and it was bound to get longer.

* * *

"Mr. Blair, your majesty."

Elizabeth faced the two men and stood up a little straighter as they bowed at the neck and then she extended her hand, cuing Mr. Blair to come forward to shake her hand. Once the man who had announced him was gone, Mr. Blair's expression changed from one of cordiality to concern.

"Do sit down, Mr. Blair," Elizabeth invited him, gesturing to a settee across from the one she moved to sit on herself.

"Thank you," Blair said, getting right to business. "I'm very glad to see that you're well, your majesty." Elizabeth smiled politely at this. 'Well' was a relative term at the moment. Unhurt? Yes, gratefully. Frightened? Very much so. Angry? Definitely.

"Ma'am?" Blair said after a few seconds of silence. He knew of the queen's inclination to only speak when necessary, but she seemed to still be out of sorts and this worried him. Elizabeth seemed to collect herself and return her attention to him.

"Forgive me, Mr. Blair. My mind has been elsewhere," she apologized.

"That's certainly understandable, ma'am, given what I've been told about what's happened to you," Blair replied. Elizabeth wasted no more time and immediately explained the details of what occurred in Scotland. She told him of her determination that the action needed must come from the whole royal family and especially from Prince Charles, but added that his reluctance to act was frustrating. She then explained what she needed from her government. She wanted Mr. Blair to get in touch with the intelligence service and begin to investigate possible leads of who could be behind these terrible attacks. Blair promised to do his very best, and at the end of the meeting, the prime minister rose with the queen and took her hand again. He shook it, as he usually did, but this time he deliberately held it a fraction of a second longer. He lowered his eyes as he bowed at the neck and Elizabeth caught the subtle act of sincere concern. She saved him the trouble of working up the courage to say what he was thinking unbidden.

"Yes, Mr. Blair?" she said. Both quite forgot that he was still holding her hand as he looked up, the force in his blue eyes showing how much it really took for him to form the words he wanted to say.

"I'm glad that you're all right," he said softly. With this, he gently released her hand and took the five steps back that would take him to the door of the room before Elizabeth herself turned and used the door at the back of the room. Released from the protocol of having to never show her his back, he turned and let himself out of the room, striding confidently down the corridor and back out to the car. He had a lot of work to do, and not a moment to lose.


End file.
